


POSTSCRIPT

by boneshrine



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-Game(s), Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), ashe tops, here we post without editing like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 12:13:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21969115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boneshrine/pseuds/boneshrine
Summary: But Ashe wants this, and what Ashe wants, Sylvain wants to give him.(Now that the war is over and they have time to themselves, Ashe fucks Sylvain nice and slow.)
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 108





	POSTSCRIPT

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bananly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bananly/gifts).



> so after telling eli that i could never be commissioned to write anything because i have a horrible concept of word counts, i decided that i was going to write her a sylvashe for christmas
> 
> and then i told myself it has to be pwp so that i don't accidentally write a longfic
> 
> ....and then i ended up drafting a longfic anyways, which will come forth at a later point :) enjoy this for now! merry christmas, enjoy the sappiest thing i've ever written in my entire goddamn life

And after the war, and after the _end_ of the war, they can finally focus on themselves, on Sylvain and Ashe as a partnership.

Sylvain, he's more about the "heat of the moment," unplanned passion when the mood is right. And there were many such instances during the war—nights where Sylvain thought, genuinely, that this was it, that tomorrow would be the battle in which one of them would die, and tonight is the last night he'd be able to hold Ashe, taste him, tell him that he loves him. Or nights where they're drunk on stale mead and victory, and hot touches and loaded stares culminate in clothes yanked off in a dark, cold bedroom of whatever for they're occupying that night.

But Ashe, Ashe is a romantic. Ashe plans these things—would plan them, if they had had the time. But when they're marching an army across the continent, battling the Andrestian Empire and its supporters while trying to keep Faerghus from falling apart, romance comes second, third, fourth to everything else.

And then they win the war, and their help is needed to establish Dimitri as the King, and to help the professor settle into their new role as Archbishop, and there's no real time for Sylvain and Ashe as a couple then, either. There's the post-war celebrations, the symbols of unification for morale's sake. The end of the war is as busy as the war itself, just in a significantly less dangerous way.

And then . . . then everything stops, all at once. The war is truly over, and the post-war hubbub abruptly quiets, or at least quiets as far as kingdom operations can. There's time for rest. Sylvain and Ashe start returning to their shared room before the middle of the night, and they aren't too tired to spend time together.

So the first time Ashe says, "Let me take charge," with a determined look in his eyes, Sylvain sees it as a gift and agrees. It's not his pace, personally. But Ashe wants this, and what Ashe wants, Sylvain wants to give him.

Ashe tilts his head up at the doorway, his expression unguarded, open, and Sylvain gives in without second thought, tipping his own head down to bring their lips together. His hand fits perfectly along Ashe's jaw, fingers sinking into silvery hair.

Sylvain's never really liked kissing. Not before Ashe. It's always been a means to an end, or an obligation to fulfill. But maybe he had been kissing the wrong people, because Ashe's mouth never fails to set him alight. The slow sweep of Ashe's tongue on his own has him shuddering, curling forward for more. The quiet clicks of mouths pushing and pulling apart make heat twist low in his stomach.

Ashe's fingers curl into his hips, hiking up the bottom of his shirt. "Bed." He whispers the suggestion against Sylvain's jaw, his hot breath following the line of it down to Sylvain's neck. Sylvain sighs an assent and forces himself to pull away from Ashe's warmth. On the bed, he plants his hands behind him, leaning back and watching Ashe. He has the urge to give Ashe his best come-hither look, but he knows it's not necessary. He's not seducing Ashe tonight.

Ashe is quiet as he watches Sylvain. He steps forward in between Sylvain's spread knees and grabs the bottom of his shirt, lifting it up and over his head. Sylvain's hands are immediately sliding up his exposed torso, revelling in the dry, hot friction of skin on skin. Ashe lets out a long breath, leaning into the touch. When Sylvain's hands reach his pecs, he reaches for them, entwining their hands together, and uses the grip to push Sylvain flat against the bed, kneeling over him, knees now bracketing Sylvain's thighs.

"You look beautiful," Ashe says quietly.

And that shouldn't make Sylvain's heart stutter pathetically. It's a line he's heard often, and one he's heard even more. But coming from Ashe, it's different, because he knows Ashe says it and means it in all the ways he can. "That's my line," Sylvain says to cover his reaction. Ashe always to throw him off-balance in the best of ways.

Ashe's response is to kiss him again, soft and hot. Shifting his weight back onto Sylvain's thighs, Ashe pushes Sylvain's shirt up his abs until the cloth is bunched up under his armpits. Sylvain breaks away from the kiss to finish the job, and then lets Ashe reel him back in with a firm hand on the back of his neck. He slowly licks into Sylvain's mouth, drawing out a quiet moan.

Ashe's lips drag a hot line from Sylvain's mouth to his jaw, then down his neck, where he pauses to suck a pink mark on the spot right below Sylvain's Adam's apple. Sylvain can't hide the way his breath hitches, or how he's getting hard against Ashe's hip.

He wants to roll Ashe over and take control. Being underneath him, receptive to everything, makes him feel weirdly vulnerable. But he knows he's safe, and that this, his gentle breaking apart, this is what Ashe wants tonight, now that they have time for it.

Ashe trails kisses down Sylvain's chest. Sylvain's breaths are coming harder now, faster, even as he forces himself to lie still save for his fingers in Ashe's hair, lightly scratching against his scalp, encouraging, wanting to touch Ashe, too. Everywhere Ashe's mouth touches burns.

Ashe's mouth turns to Sylvain's hips, where he knows Sylvain is sensitive. He suctions his mouth above one of Sylvain's hipbones, bites the other hard enough to make Sylvain's hips kick up. Ashe smooths his hands down Sylvain's thighs, steadying him, and when they come back up, it's only to hook his fingers into his pants and pull them down, taking his underwear with. He dismounts Sylvain to fully peel off the last of Sylvain's clothing, and Sylvain takes the opportunity to shuffle back on the bed, giving them more room to work with.

Ashe bypasses Sylvain's newly exposed erection, instead scraping his teeth, laving his tongue, along the sensitive skin of Sylvain's inner thighs. Sylvain's fingers tighten in Ashe's hair, but he doesn't pull or push Ashe to where he wants him the most. "Ashe," he whispers when Ashe's cheek brushes over his cock.

Ashe kisses Sylvain's thigh, and it's almost innocent, the way he looks up softly, adoringly at Sylvain, and would be if not for the fact that his face is inches away from Sylvain's hard cock. "I've got you," Ashe promises, and then one of his hands is on Sylvain's shaft. His strokes aren't hard or fast, but the friction, the heat, is enough to temper some of Sylvain's urgency. Ashe's darkened eyes are trained on Sylvain, observing every ragged inhale, every involuntary jerk of his hips.

Ashe dips his head down, and even though he's slow, and Sylvain knows what he's about to do, it still comes as a shock when lips fasten onto the head of his cock. It's accompanied by a tongue rubbing over him in the most delicious way, and Sylvain makes a choking sound, doing everything in his power to not fuck into Ashe's mouth. He bites down hard on his lower lip. Fuck, Ashe hasn't even _done_ anything yet and he already feels out of control. Ashe pops his mouth back off, eyes wide and focused. "Look at you, Sylvain," he says, and Sylvain wonders what the hell he's done to make Ashe look so amazed, enraptured. Ashe lowers his head once more, licking up the side of the shaft before sinking his mouth back down over it, engulfing Sylvain in soft, wet heat.

Sylvain's hands leave Ashe's hair to twist in the bed sheets. He can't trust himself not to pull anymore. Not when Ashe does _that_ with his tongue. Sylvain whines, and Ashe backs off to give a breathy little laugh, and to reach over to the nightstand, to the glass bottle Sylvain has been ignoring until now. Ashe leans back on the balls of his feet and focuses on coating his fingers with oil. Sylvain takes advantage of the break, admiring his lover, the hard planes of his stomach, his bow-strengthened arms, the constellations of freckles on his face, the knife-sharp intensity in his eyes. Even looking at Ashe is enough to set off a wave of affection in his chest, and he quietly says, "I love you."

Green flicks up to meet brown, just as Ashe closes the bottle. Ashe blinks at him, and a moment later, a pleased, warm smile stretches across his face. He lowers himself over Sylvain once more, his oil-slicked hand gripping the outside of Sylvain's thigh while the other arm holds his weight low enough to bring their faces together. "I love you too," he murmurs against Sylvain's lips before closing the gap between them.

Yeah. Sylvain had to have been kissing all the wrong people before Ashe, because he could do this all day without losing interest.

Sylvain's mouth falls open, his attention stolen away by the fingers rubbing over his hole. Ashe's nose bumps into his, and the archer doesn't break eye contact even as his fingers stroke, firm in pressure but not hard enough to penetrate. Sylvain's cock bobs against his stomach as his hips push towards the pressure, but Ashe doesn't relent. It's teasing in the way that Sylvain had never expected Ashe to be at first, but has grown to expect and even anticipate. Sylvain digs his fingernails into Ashe's shoulders, letting Ashe lick into his mouth again, coaxing his tongue into moving with his.

Sylvain loses rhythm again when Ashe pushes in the first finger. It's not particularly a stretch, but Sylvain's already flushing, dizzy with the promise of more. The second finger comes soon after, and leans back to watch where his fingers disappear into Sylvain, appreciative and riveted. "Look at you," Ashe says again. "I'm not even moving. You're fucking yourself on my fingers."

Sylvain realizes it's true, that he's desperately moving his hips back onto Ashe's fingers while the other holds his hand still. He feels filthy, hot, _wanted._ Ashe saying anything even remotely resembling dirty talk gets him going faster than almost anything else.

Ashe lets Sylvain fuck himself back on his fingers for a while, even encouraging him by wrapping a hand around his cock, giving him something to thrust into. Sylvain can come like this, if Ashe wants him to. He can, except that's not what Ashe wants. What Ashe wants, apparently, is to suddenly pin his hips down with a firm grip, keeping him still, as he suddenly hooks his fingers in the direction of Sylvain's prostate.

He finds it on the first try. Sylvain makes a noise that he can't even classify, something loud and needy, because Ashe just holds his fingers there, right where he's most sensitive, and it's like sparks circuit his whole body. The barrage of pleasure from that constant, concentrated pressure has him dizzy, has his vision going strained and black at the edges. "Fuck, fuck, _Ashe—"_

Ashe relents, pulling back and thrusting a few times, and Sylvain shakes under him. Ashe leans down to kiss over Sylvain's hips and thighs, soothing as he eases a third finger into him. Sylvain feels delirious with heat, but knows that it's okay, that Ashe has him.

Ashe pin's Sylvain's hip down again, and that's all the warning he gets before all three of them are twisting into his prostate before stilling once more, and it's so much, it's _so much._ Sylvain chokes on a plea or a prayer, and if Ashe weren't as strong as he is, his hips would have dislodged him by now. As it is, Sylvain can't squirm away, and has no choice but to _take it._

By the time Ashe withdraws, he's hard and leaking on his abdomen, and shuddering, chest heaving. With his clean hand, Ashe strokes slowly up and down Sylvain's stomach and chest, broad, smooth strokes to calm him. "You're beautiful, Sylvain," Sylvain hears him say, and Sylvain leans up, seeking the heat of Ashe's mouth.

Ashe indulges him, slotting his lips over Sylvain's. Sylvain fits his hand over Ashe's jaw, pulling him closer and guiding him until he's completely blanketed over Sylvain. Ashe sighs into Sylvain's mouth, alerting him to Ashe stroking himself, coating his cock with oil. Sylvain sighs, breath shaky, and subtly arranges himself under Ashe to get more comfortable.

Ashe is gentle when he pushes in, and he presses his face into Sylvain's neck, alternating between panting and kissing the thin skin there. Sylvain is full, and the stretch is good, and he can feel every inch of Ashe where they connect, the hot thickness of his cock sinking into him.

Ashe's hips are flush against the backs of Sylvain's thighs, and he heaves a sigh against Sylvain's throat. They're both shaking, open nerves, ready to go off at any touch.

Sylvain seeks out Ashe's mouth, a tacit go-ahead, and Ashe draws his hips back to push back in, and the slide is hot and tight and everything Sylvain needs. Sylvain moans in encouragement and nips at Ashe's lower lip.

The rhythm Ashe takes up is slow but sure, constantly rocking his hips in steady, deep motions. Sylvain loses himself in the onslaught of pleasure, the drag of Ashe's heat inside of him, the way Ashe's abdomen rubs against the underside of his cock. Ashe finds Sylvain's hands and entwines them both with his own, pinning them above Sylvain's head and holding himself above Sylvain by letting his weight down on their hands, his body an arc moving over him. Sylvain lets himself go, lets himself enjoy this pleasure Ashe gives him. He moans his satisfaction, hips rising up to meet Ashe's.

Grunting, Ashe leans back so he's kneeling, and hauls Sylvain's hips up on his thighs. Like this, he thrusts up into Sylvain, deep and thorough, and his newly free hands fall on Sylvain's body, one digging into the meat of Sylvain's thigh and the other gripping Sylvain's cock, wasting no time stroking twice as fast as Ashe's thrusts.

"Ashe, I'm—"

Sylvain can't remember how to form words after that, not when Ashe's hips brutally snap forward, slowly pulling back to rock back in again with the same amount of power. The hand on Sylvain's cock tightens, quickens, and there's a dark, searching glint in Ashe's eyes as he chases Sylvain's peak. "That's it," Ashe says through choppy breaths. "Just like that, Sylvain, come on—"

The final straw is when Ashe thumbs the tip of Sylvain's cock. Sylvain goes taut, tension winding up in his body and all at once releasing in one cacophony of pleasure, and he seizes up, his vision blurring as he faces the tidal wave of his orgasm.

When Sylvain is left with aftershocks, Ashe groans and pulls out. He fucks into the hole his hand makes, and after one, two, three thrusts, he comes across Sylvain's thighs.

Both of them are still save for the rise and fall of their chests as they try to regulate their breathing. Then Sylvain reaches up for Ashe, and Ashe easily curves his body over Sylvain, careful not to rub himself into the mess on Sylvain's thighs. Ashe fastens their mouths together with several short consecutive kisses. "Thank you," he breathes.

"It's been a while since we could just take our time," Sylvain agrees. He grins, his hand slinking down his body to swipe a finger through Ashe's release. "I forgot how messy it could be," he says, raising the finger near Ashe's face.

Ashe's nose scrunches up. "Please tell me that's not your takeaway from this."

"Nah," Sylvain says, his smile softening. "It was perfect. Or at least, it will be perfect once you get me a towel so we can clean up and cuddle."

Ashe laughs, kisses Sylvain's nose, and gets off the bed.


End file.
